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Page 435
was little choice. Once upon the wall, it was more certain death to try to go down the ladder than to fight. For the defenders, quarter was protection. Once yielded, if they saw the invaders taking the worse, they could escape down the ladders without much fear that their unyielded comrades would waste blows or arrows on them.
The pressure behind Ian was growing greater than the pressure ahead of him. Owain, thrusting around his master from behind, could still use his sword, but Ian was doing more damage with his shield than with the blade, because he had so little room to strike. Inexorably, as much by weight as by skill, he was pressing closer and closer to the door into the tower. Sir Robert smashed his sword hilt into the jaw of the man opposing him, stepped forward the width of the body, and was pressed sideways so that he faced the inner edge of the wall.
"There is fighting in the bailey," he shouted. "We have breached the wall."
The defender who had thrust Sir Robert sideways hesitated, with his sword raised for a blow, and also looked over the wall. What he saw gave him no comfort. He threw down the sword and cried aloud, "Yielded."
After that, what resistance was made was a mere token. Before the men of the first wave up the ladder felt the need to stop and breathe, they had won to the door and down the steps of the tower. In the guard room at the base, the fighting would be more determined, Ian thought. There were a number of men standing to the defense of the drawbridge mechanism. Ian measured his opponents warily. They were fresh and, he decided, ready to make a last stand. These were probably relatives of the castellan or squires grown up in service, not to be bribed into yielding by offers of quarter.
"Geoffrey!"

 
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